Step Forth Into My Stained Nightmare
by Deena
Summary: Loosely based upon 'The Princess and the Pea'...With vague memories of her own successful suicide haunting her, the Princess approaches an unknown Castle Proper Blood, gore, violence, sexual depravity, death
1. Prologue

Author's Note:

Lately I've been obsessed with reading Lani's original, totally rockin' Twisted Fairy Tales. To everyone who hasn't read her stuff, you really should check her out 'cause she's awesome. You can find her in my Favorite Authors section, under the user name Angel with Raven Wings. Her Alice story was what first hooked me and I've been reading her stuff religiously ever since.

I thought I'd try my hand at my own dark fairy tale since I've got massive writer's block for my current big fic project, 'Eating of Empty Eyes'. For anyone who cares, I'm still working on it but I don't know when I'll be done ploughing through Part 18. In the meantime, I'm having a ton of fun with this shard of demented fluff. This story is loosely based on the tale of 'The Princess and the Pea', which used to be one of my favorite Fairy Tales when I'd been but a wee lass. 

All the quotes I've used come from to some of my favorite Black Metal and Punk bands and belong respectedly to them. Well blah blah...enjoy!

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**_Step Forth Into My Stained Nightmare:_**

**_A Retelling Horrific of the Princess and the Pea_**

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**PROLOGUE**

_As sick and twisted as it is_

_For Her corset laced with arsenic_

_Hides snake curves within Her midst_

_Whilst Her halo of white lies supplies_

_Her Temple to what God forbids._

**~*~Saffron's Curse – Cradle of Filth~*~**

Patricide.

Matricide.

Fratricide thrice.

The killing of one's own flesh. 

_Seek not to sin for beneath yonder Demon Sky shalt singe of thine flesh unclean._

Was there a name for the slaying of one's lover?

Homicide.

Simply put, the murder of a man. Lover included.

_Mine Dead, I did Adorn_

_With flowers fair and Angel's hair._

But the thing that was, that which was beyond what horror she had executed, was her _own_ suicide.

Suicide splayed, crunching over her body like broken glass.

Raylah Scyon, Princess of Ardeth and now sole living member of the Royal Lineage, _remembered_ taking the task.

A butcher's knife stained with the soggy flesh and pink coils of wide-eyed animals. A blade made for slaughter and that which colored the splashing steel had no longer been of farm creatures but of blood Royal. She'd played the butcher, in gowns of grey and ribboning locks.

As though in pleasure, her body had flushed and heated upon kissing metal. There'd been moans, cut short by her cut. Her hand was true and through well-caressed skin she'd shorn. Slipping from her, down her front like a lover's seed, her hemorrhage had given forth an experience akin to cathartic release. It had been delicious, smearing like a green apple. Tart and sweet and juicy...so juicy.

Scarlet painted the night, painted the limits of her world and grew bold. With hazy eyes and drooling flesh, from afar she'd heard the voice of her dead lover.

"You will not rest again, Princess. Watch the night, watch in fright and cry in silent terror when decay beckons."

Liquid jade had closed, lashes sweeping down upon cheeks pale. Raylah slept toward death.

But some things weren't meant to be.


	2. Part I

PART I 

_Anything is what she is_

_Anywhere is where she's from_

_Anything is what she'll be_

_Anything as long as it's mine_

**~*~Dig Up Her Bones – Misfits~*~**

The front of her grey gowns, around her exposed neckline, felt particularly wet. The cloak she wore, a heavy affair of black layers, was clasped at the hollow of her throat and streamed behind her. The fastenings further along the cloak's edge had all been broken. Raylah couldn't imagine how that had happened. She felt certain that she wouldn't have worn a ripped cloak.

Again, slender fingers skimmed at the uncovered skin of her throat. And again, she expected her fingers to come away stained, dripping with some unknown liquid but they remained dry. It was a peculiar sensation and she'd been having scores of those upon her painful wake some time ago.

When her eyes had opened and surveyed her surroundings, she knew she'd fallen badly. Her head ached in sharp throbs and behind her, a gnarled tree root had retained a scrap of her cloak in its wooden grasp. Beyond the fall, Raylah remembered nothing.

Deep within the forest's thicket, injured and in the murk of the night, she was alone. It was odd, just as the slight fraying at her memory's verge was odd. There were things she _almost_ remembered, things that seemed to dance within her reach and then escape when she came too close. Something had happened to her and it was something bad, of that she was certain..

_The killing of one's own flesh..._

Raylah shivered, gooseflesh scraping the skin beneath her clothing. The wind was picking up, weaving through the somber trees and scouring at her disheveled coiffure. Her soft slippers sank into the damp earth with gentle grates, moving towards an unknown direction. It was unclear how long she'd been trudging thorough the forest deep but from the shoddy look of her cloak and skirts, it must have been a good while.

Thick shadows made the forest and in its unseen embrace lurked things rabid and horrid. There came, not for the first time, the impression of being watched, examined. Icy fingers rose, scribbling at her throat and again her fingers came away dry. Clearly she was being foolish. She was not wet, only cold. She tugged her cloak together over her breasts and held it closed.

Above her, clouds converged and the sky rose in shrieks. The darkness swelled and pulsated. Something alive howled in the distance, rippling with the wind. Leafy limbs crunched into splintering bark. In the underbrush, gnawing creatures scurried. A storm splashed over the night's surface.

Raylah caught hold fistfuls of grey skirts and ducked beneath a clawing Rancid Oak tree. The sky ruptured down upon her, drenching the forest in liquid. She pressed herself against the knotted wood as pointed twigs pursed into her hair. Pushing the whipping branches aside, Raylah caught sight of a square of parchment affixed to the left side of the Rancid Oak. It was badly tattered with the shred borders beating upon the tree's thick trunk.

Raylah pressed her face close to the vellum fine and read.

His Highness, The Crowned Prince Ayden of Lilia hath returned to the Castle Proper following five fortnights of relentless albeit unsuccessful searching for one Princess fair. Within the Royal Courtyard shall be celebrations upon the Harvest Moon Full. All ye be welcome save sinners of the faith.

A tiny inkling of familiarity seeped into her mind at the name of the Prince. Ayden. She knew it certainly for it spilled from her lips _like blood from a blade_ with fluid alacrity. Had they met upon some previous occasion? She knew that she too was royalty, the signet ring of cold jade proclaimed her as such. The title of 'Princess' sounded right but other than that, her realities remained blurry. Could it be possible that she was of a relation to the Prince? Perhaps the kingdom of Lilia, while remaining elusive to her mind's eye, was her home. She didn't see why not.

The urge to make herself known inside the castle and find out what fates had befallen her, overwhelmed Raylah. There was still fear, piercing as glass oh yes, but it dimmed in the wake of her need to find answers. Raylah stepped out from beneath the tree's clutching embrace. A shroud of frosty rain spilled over her, drenching the Princess to the marrow within seconds. Liquid conformed to pale skin like a silken garment, licking over her face and splashing down the slope of her throat.

Now she was wet.

"As is should be," she murmured, unable to keep from reaching up to touch her neck skin.

She knew not what had possessed her to say such words. They shouldn't have meant anything, four tiny words...and yet they did. They meant worlds of unknown affairs. They meant her memory loss and everything other.

Wrenching up full, mud-writ skirts, Raylah took flight through the screeching storm. The dirt and the grass become a uniform stew of drenched paths. With every step, her feet were swallowed and regurgitated, smudged with sliding soil.. Frenzied bursts of wind seized at her hair and yanked the inky tresses free. Streaming strands clung to her face and plowed into her eyes, into her mouth like the legs of a soggy spider. With biting panic Raylah shoved back handfuls of hair.

Her bosom heaved as she pushed herself to flee quickly. Lashing branches and trails of fauna coiled as though to catch her. Raylah was frightened. The forest frightened her, what prowled within it frightened her for were something to happen to her, no one would come to her rescue.

Unbidden, an image of her broken body cast upon the forest's floor like refuse arced into her mind. Over the bodice of her grey gown spilled dark fluid, seeping from the slice in her throat. Pea-colored eyes remained open and cloudy as sable twists of hair sought access into her facial orifices, crawling like worms.

_You will not rest again Princess._

Who had said _that_ to her? What was wrong with her?

"Surely the fall had addled mine wits," she whispered, pushing through a hoard of tangled vines. "Else this storm be wrought with madness."

Madness. The word produced as much terror as did the horrific mysteries of the forest. For if she was mad, if she was _fleeing_ in _madness_...

It bore not to contemplate.

"Raylah."

She gasped, turning to glance back over her shoulder and stumbled. It was another exposed tree root. She plunged to her knees onto the sodden loam. Her hands sank into oozing slime as she made to brace her fall..

"Princess Raylah."

Yanking her fingers from the muddy ropes of earth, Raylah whipped her head around. She frantically raked her gaze through the circle of trees and shrubbery for the speaker. Her heart scribbled furiously against her bosom. "Who-who lurks?!"

The storm was quieting as the rain began to slow. Again the voice came as though from far off and quite close. It spoke with accentless, genderless words. 

"Thine blade be lost, has it?"

She strained her eyes against the darkness, straining hard to see. The speaker seemed to come from all around her. "Reveal th-thy face!" Brave words though she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to see its face.

"All alone, slain by thine hand!"

Frozen dread rivered over her in a great torrent. Something was creeping back into her mind's brink, something from her past. Red-soaked and wicked.

"The Princess with stained fingers, upon her knees like a whore."

Hastily, she wiped grimy fingers upon her cloak. "I am not!" Her voice trembled like harp strings Around her, the last of the wind stilled and the rain stopped. "Who are you?"

Fratricide thrice.

Someone new spoke in a lower, deeper voice. "The wayward tread in strides of madness."

Raylah froze.

And another voice came, falling between the previous two. "Here begins the tale anew."


	3. Part II

PART II 

_My deed were wrong _

_I've stained the land _

_And slain my kin _

_(Burning Soul)_

_There's no release from my sins_

**~*~Curse of Feanor – Blind Guardian~*~**

The words of the speakers three swam around her as viscously as the storm had. Raylah desperately wanted to rise and rush back into the forest's gloom but found that she could not. She simply was unable to stand to her feet.

"What do you want with me?" she cried, salty liquid biting at her lids. She was helpless and so very frightened. "I have done nothing wrong!"

Mocking laughter grated through the silence and filled the air around her. Raylah was left with the sensation of wispy insects scampering over her skin. She swallowed hard and pressed shaking hands together.

"You are smothered in sin, Princess Raylah."

"You flee from your crimes."

"You deserve everything that shall befall you."

"It is not true!" Her voice was raucous. "I would not..."

_The killing of one's own flesh._

She knew she'd done nothing wrong just as she knew she wasn't mad! Her memory was blurry, this was true but that didn't mean she was a _bad_ person...

A crackling of thunder surged out high above their place of conversation. Raylah started, sucking in a great gulp of air. Wind wrinkled through the gigantic trees and flapped at her billowing garments The darkness grew in density and in shadows. It pulsated like a frothing creature angered. She could see nothing for her vision had been cast aside but she knew that the three speakers were biding their time. Their gazes lingered upon her, ready to invest in some firebrand, mottled version of justice. 

"For something I've not done!" Her muddled mind was quick to protest.

But in her heart, far beneath the flesh and blood and living, her knew otherwise. And _that_ was what truly terrified her. Not the forest and it hidden horrors, not the three speakers with their harebrained accusations but _herself_. That she might be fleeing from some horrendous crime she'd committed...

"Of that you are true." The voice of the third speaker slit through the quickening gale. "For that you must attest."

Raylah raised her head and with verdant eyes wide, sealed her fate. "I shan't!"

Lightening suddenly blistered like the sun's gleam from upon a mirror. It held, casting light against the storm-raped woodland of her settings. Though she could now see everything, from her fingerprints in the mud before her to the watery thicket behind her, she caught no sight of her speakers. As she blinked rapidly, Raylah found that she was unsurprised.

"Now you shall see, Princess," proclaimed the first voice. "See what thine hand had wrought."

A faded, warbling sound, much like the rapid scraping of fingernails upon wood, filtered from afar. It resonated against the burly trees and chipped rock. Raylah's dread lengthened tenfold at the audible prelude. Then, as suddenly as the lightening had appeared, it vanished but not before leaving Raylah with a sickening sight.

In the familiar darkness, the image burned itself into her mindflesh. Nausea tore at her stomach, casting it upwards. The stench sifted towards her and it was unbearable. Her eyes watered copiously as she was forced to press the gaping sleeve of her cloak to her face.

Oozing from the roots of the trees were streams of crimson syrup. It bubbled and foamed like the ravings of a person mad. _The wayward tread in strides of_ _madness_Sticks of bleached bone and scrapes of soggy flesh slid forth upon red ripples. Hair, real hair clung with vivid goo, gushed languorously in thick tufts. Over the pebble-littered soil it came, a viscous fluid that was _etched_ into the corners of her mind.

Raylah unfroze. She bounded to her feet, yanking up heavy skirts. The soft rushing, similar to a coursing brook, cut through the silence of the night. She quickly stepped backwards and found that scarlet splashes were lapping at the heels of her slippers. 

She shrieked with repulsion as scathing laughter veiled her. In her mind she could see all too clearly the lake of vibrant filth that threatened to engulf her.

Scrabbling pinchers pierced at her ankles. She stumbled as she was penetrated. Pain spilled up her legs and swelled about her. Something slippery, no doubt a piece of spongy flesh, polished at her cold skin. Raylah wheezed for air, panic seizing her breath, even as she still screamed.

The scarlet puddle was rising...and now her blood joined it. Slicing nails raked at her legs with malicious intent. Raylah found herself sinking into swarming warmth. She would be swallowed while the speakers three looked on.

"Covetous is this blood...that which you have shed."

"Thine cries fall upon deaf ears."

"Here thine body shall eternally rot."

It was those last words, spoken in the gruff tones of the second man, that infiltrated through Raylah's haze of horror. Die here, like the slain carcass of a hunted animal? She would not! She _refused_ to die here, afraid and cowering! She was a Princess and she _would_ act as such!

Tears sprung upon her eyes as she jerked away from the puncturing claws with a tremendous force. Blood spattered from her shorn ankles, mingling into the carmine pool swelling above the forest's floor. Raylah lurched violently and for agonizing instant she was certain that she would tumble straight into the sea of blood. However, with arms windmilling she managed to keep her balance. Dashing through the mounting flood, trying desperately not to think of what she was stepping through and what was attempting to seize her, Raylah fought down the acidic fluid that threatened to spill past quivering lips. 

"From thine deeds, thou cannot flee."

"I can!" she shrieked, blindly ploughing forth. "You shall not keep me here!" 

Another snap of lightening arced through the night, lighting up the boundaries of her world. In her path's direct, stood the three speakers. All were tall and all were hooded in robes of purest black. Raylah cried out and spun around. To her horror, vermilion waves were solidifying before her. They rose from the cloying liquid in long, juicy fibers. They coiled at her calves, rendering her inert. The lightening began to fade and as it did, ice-laden fingers dug into her arms.

"No!" She struggled frantically, even as clutching binds grew in pressure. "I will not be taken! You cannot-mmmph!"

A thing made up of parts frozen and scummy was crammed into her mouth. Behind her back, her hands were twisted and held. Lengthy fingers clutched through her hair and forced her head back. Piercing coldness glint at her throat.

"Cease now Princess. This blade is true."

Raylah grew still for she knew they meant it. Scalding fear curdled in the pit of her stomach, festering like gorging spores. She moaned against the gag. Sour rancidity slanted into her mouth, tasting of spoiled milk and raw meat. Her breath hitched causing the knife's blade to ripple over her throat. A stinging pain ruptured into her skin.

"Take from this wicked sinner now, brother."

Gagging, mindless panic apprehended her. Through it all, Raylah's only coherent thought was of the parchment tacked upon the tree's bark she'd seen some distance back. What had been writ upon it...

_All ye be welcome save sinners of the faith._

Was that what she was, a sinner of the faith? What _had_ she done before her fall? Surely it couldn't have been anything so as to warrant these ghastly acts! What was to happen to her? She couldn't die here, she just _couldn't_!

"Done will be what is ours to complete."

As though marking these words, a vast torrent of wind crushed over them. Heavy skirts were swept about and from beneath. Sliding languidly up the skin of her bare legs came something both icy and sweltering. The bloody strands jerked at her calves and her legs cleaved apart. 

The beat of her heart throbbed in nasty rates as her breathing caught. She wasn't to be _deflowered_ was she? She was a Princess not some sort of common harlot! She writhed, shrieking against the gag. Immediately the cruel steel poised at her throat moved...sliced and a trickle of warmed rolled down her throat and between her panting breasts. 

In the blackness, Raylah knew that the warmth was carmine in color.

Hands pulled at her dress. The voluminous grey material rose from the front and was held aside. Chilled wind scoured at shaking lower limbs. Crawling fingers mounted, touching smooth flesh as they went. Raylah clenched her watering eyes shut and prayed hysterically. 

This wasn't happening to her! It couldn't be, she didn't deserve it! Sliced upon, defiled by three men as she stood in a pool of murky blood...

"Carve out what festers within her."

Fingers shifted upwards, reaching high beneath her dress to creep along the flat stretch of her stomach. And before Raylah was able to absorb what was to happen, before the words spoken could permeate through her clinging shadows of fear, her abdomen was sliced upon. 

Her scream of terror and pain fell into the putrid gag. Shards of liquid _agony_ sweltered throughout her body. She gushed forth in a tepid cascade, blood soaking her gown and drooling down her legs. She yanked at her detained arms, yanked hard and thrashed furiously but nothing came of it. Laughter raked over her, jeering her vain attempts.

"Deaden her womb and the filth it contains."

As she still yelled and writhed, for now it was all she was able to do, Raylah was etched into. Squirming digits, like hard worms, burrowed into her flesh, splitting and tearing. Something was pulled at, wrenched at and it spouted out in a great surge of scarlet. A coil of pink membrane...and a feeling of acute loss. It was torn from her and the pain was so great, blackness scalded at the edge of her vision.

"Thine babe is no longer whore."

Understanding dawned scant seconds before Raylah fainted.


	4. Part III

PART III 

_Their poison fingers _

_That wrote the poison lines_

_Their poison lingers_

_What a tragedy when their fingers are removed_

**~*~Where the Slime Live- Morbid Angel~*~**

_You deserve everything that shall befall you_.

_All alone, slain by thine hand_.

_Deaden her womb and the filth it contains_.

_All ye be welcome save sinners of the faith_.

Pea-colored eyes flew open, slender fingers falling upon her midriff. Memories rinsed through her mind, racing past with startling alacrity.

"Fret not Princess," croaked a voice dry as a crackling roast. "Still in one piece thou art."

With great difficulty, Raylah managed to turn her head. There was light, orange and dim, from the dancing flames beside her. Awashed in the smoky glow, sat an  old woman. Her heavily lined face was the grainy color of silt and had the look of a wood caving. Thin lips, hollow cheeks and a hooked nose completed the rest of her countenance. Pewter-colored hair that was both sparse and coarse hung in ropy threads down her back, squirming in the scant breeze like a burrow full of larvae. Her most notable feature however, were her eyes. They were large and completely round, like silver coins. A milky blur robbed her of her sight and Raylah was reminded of mist covering the moon on a chilly night.

Raylah attempted to sit up and found that she could with perfect ease. All the varieties of staggering pain she'd been imprisoned with had vanished entirely, as though it had only been some sort of vivid dream. Glancing down, her dress spoke of a different story. The hemline was caked with muddy dirt and a thick liquid had dyed the material a rusty black. The large smear that stretched across the expanse of her midriff bore a remarkable similarity to the stains upon the hem of her dress.

"Something dreadfully horrid has happened to me," Raylah whispered, blood draining from her cheeks. She struggled against bitter tears.

The old lady turned blind eyes upon her. "_Feels_ it as though something horrid has happened?"

"Well no but-" A frown creased smooth skin. "How is it that you know who I am? They knew also. Who are you?"

The old lady cackled and Raylah was repulsed to see that she was toothless, her gums the color of a fresh bruise. "How soon you forget me, Princess Raylah! I am Nettle Fulsome, Binder of the Splintered Tomes and Deadened Corridors. Upon many occasions have we met."

Chills snapped up and down Raylah's spine. She couldn't imagine that she would ever meet with the likes of Nettle willingly. There was something sinister about the old woman. Her aura skulked against Raylah like the pestilence of a cellar rat. The Princess pushed grimy black locks from her cheek and avoided those marble-like eyes. "How did you find me? What...what has happened to me?"

A gummy smirk stretched itself across mottled lips. "You were sliced into like a slab of sogging meat-roast."

Raylah stifled a gasp as her fingers pressed at her stomach. How horrid the old woman was! How could Nettle make light of what had been done to her? She clenched her eyes shut and took a slow breath. Her stomach was knotting into itself with acute nausea. The urge to retch was tremendous.

"Thine love child shall never come pass." This was said with a great deal of satisfaction. "In deadened halls shall it remain, wrought with decay."

Vapid eyes flew open. "How can this be? I remember naught! I do not even know who...and _why_ they did to me...such cruelty had they shown!" Full lips trembled as the memory of the terrifying things that had happened to her sank deep. Unable to hold back any longer, Raylah burst into soul-searing tears. She wept for the loss of herself, her babe, and memories unknown. She wept in pain and loneliness and deep-rooted fright. Once the tears fell hard, it was as though they would never stop.

"Cease _immediately_ this brainless bout of maidenly sniveling!" Disgust, which should have _instead_ been present at the notion of a forced abortion, tinged Nettle's raspy voice. "Have I taught thee nothing child? Nattering on in the manner of a daft doxy, has thine pride been lost? Madness robs thee!"

Raylah stared at Nettle with dripping lashes, pain shredding through her bosom. "How spiteful you are! What has been taught to me, that I should ever be in obligations to thee!"

Nettle hissed. The milky haze that obscured round eyes shifted and grew in color. Like a drop of dye splashing into water, the blind white switched instantly into thick cranberry tones. Nettle spoke in soft, almost _caressing_ words. "Speak again in such a manner Princess Raylah, and this time thy _life_ shalt be carved from thee."

Raylah managed to swallow. Her body was veiled in shivers, despite the crisping fire next to her. "I beg thy pardon," she whispered and hated herself. The words should have come with greater difficulty; she was a _Princess_ while Nettle was clearly nothing better than an eccentric old peasant, and yet it was much too easy to cry for forgiveness. Nettle was right, it appeared that somewhere along the line her pride _had_ been lost.

"As you should." Large burgundy orbs impaled into her. "What had befallen you becomes fate. As atonement for thine actions you suffered and shall _continue_ to suffer. Most horrid the pain shall be." Nettle looked thrilled at the possibility.

Raylah recoiled. "But why? What have I done? Who _were_ those three speakers? They had _no_ right to-"

"They were in their right, most assuredly so," Nettle interrupted, scratching at the side of her head. Greyish clumps of hair fell to the ground, rustling like a hunted rodent. The old woman seemed not to notice. "Gaze upon thy hands, Princess. Tell me what becomes."

Here came horror, no longer a stranger. Her heartbeat accelerated and Raylah knew that something was amiss. Of their own accord, pea-green eyes fluttered downwards. A shriek slipped out from wan lips, echoing about the silent night. 

To the wrists, both her hands were _smeared_ in scarlet fluid. Clotty, dripping blood gathered beneath her fingernails and rolled downwards to her elbows. It clung, feeling hideously natural. Screaming again, this one was traced with nausea and bile. Frantically, the Princess scrubbed her hands upon a reedy clump of everweed that grew in a dense patch near to her. The coarse stalks rubbed against her palm skin and still nothing was removed. Wheezing in huge, panicky bursts of air,  Raylah scoured her fingers as though in the grip of some sort of infectious disease. But it would not give...it would not change!

Nettle chortled at her foolish attempts, the sound striking like fingernails upon metal. "Thine actions taint you, Princess! Nothing can cleanse thee, save for thine own penalties harsh."

Slowly Raylah raised her head. As she wiped at wet eyes, streaks of crimson splashed across wan cheeks. She would have been shocked to see how much of a lunatic Pagan Princess she looked, had she gazed upon her reflection. "What...what have I done Nettle? I bade thee tell me!"

Sniggering, Nettle cracked her knuckles. Quite visibly, she was enjoying Raylah's plight. "You _know_ what spoils upon thy fingers fair."

Large eyes clenched shut. She knew what was coming and yet...Raylah prayed that it was not so.

"You have taken _flesh_, Princess." This was said with a great deal of relish. "Thine hands are blemished with _murder_!"

The words squealed into the corners of her mind like a bell. What she had been fighting so hard came to pass; Raylah retched. Spuming liquid and mushy lump spilled past her lips and left her shaking and weak. Body heaving, murderous hands sought for purchase and fought none.

"Makes no matter _now_, Princess. What you have done is done and all that remains is thine price to pay." Blind eyes fixed themselves onto the bloodless, sickened Princess. "And pay you shall. This marks only the beginning. Again will you live, tangled in thine actions. Blood will flow in rivers, curling at thine feet as had already happened."

"Why?" The word came out as a harsh croak. "Why did I..." A watery sob caught the words and once again she found herself weeping endless tears.

"You did not heed mine warning. Cross me and I shall fix." She caught hold of Raylah's chin and pressed oily fingers against the sobbing mouth. "Reap what you sow Princess. Bestow what I ask and all shall be well."

Raylah gagged against the pungent odor that clung to those old, leather-like fingers but her pain-sleek eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Into a dream world will you dwell. Eternally blissful with no memories and no pain. All things will be beautiful." Smirking, Nettle raised her other hand and caressed Raylah's smooth cheek. "In return all I ask for is thy sight."

A gasp puffed against Nettle's gnarly fingers. Raylah endeavored to pull away but Nettle's grip was true. 

"Sightless I be and shall remain. In bondage to thine actions wicked thy shall remain. Hear me well Princess and complete mine bidding for release from these wretched shackles of fate. Thy comely eyes green I desire. Pluck them out and _give onto me_!"

Employing as much strength as she could muster, Raylah broke free. "I shan't!"

A storm cloud of ominous sentiments settled over Nettle's wrinkled features. Those hazy eyes _swam_ scarlet as a lime-colored froth pooled at thin lips. Her nostrils flared though her voice grew soft, cool. "You dare disobey me, girl?"

"Leave me be!" Raylah scrambled backwards, her skirts scuttling about her. "This is not your right to ask!"

"Murderer! Sinful whore!" Spittle flew from her mouth. Nettle reached for her with mottled fingers, clawing like branches. "After all I had done for thee in thine Before Life! Saved thee and given onto thee I had!"

Raylah vaulted to her feet, her empty stomach rattling. She scrabbled her cloak tighter around quivering shoulders. 

"Nothing awaits thee save horror and blood! Again will you live in times filtered with revenge! Nothing is real but thine arrogance!"

"Stay away from me," Raylah managed to whisper.

Terror most foul haunted Raylah. The idea of living in an empty dream world seemed so abhorrent to her. She dared not give her eyes to Nettle, that she could never do! She didn't trust Nettle and the consequences could be deadly. Perhaps the things that lay before her were most ghastly but she _would_ fight!

Wracking hands slid to her womb, barren and cold. The forest swallowed Raylah as once more she fled.

"You cannot flee from death!"

And still her hands remained tarnished, seeping onto the darkened forest's floor.


	5. Part IV

PART IV 

_I hereby declare the orgy to begin_

_Ravage your luscious virgin flesh_

_(How I love it)_

_My cup runneth over_

_Drink my distilled insanity_

**~*~Sinister Mephisto – Arch Enemy~*~**

Made entirely of rainwater and mud, Raylah bruised wet knuckles upon the crudely-hewn wooden door. Behind her, the gigantic walled Courtyard remained frightfully empty, shrouded in violent rain and thrashing storms.

Without thought and without ceasing, Raylah had run fast and fiercely throughout the forest. The things that had happened to her, from one horror straight onto another; she could bear not to think of any of it for fear of going eternally mad. So much was still left unanswered and yet the answers she _had_ received had been terrifying. She could not let it come to pass, all that Nettle had spoke of. There _would_ be peace, it surely was her right. 

Raylah had arrived finally to the Castle of Lilia and could only hope that here would be safety and answers. Perhaps Lilia was her home. Perhaps all this was but a wicked dream, a callous trick played upon her. Nettle had been nothing more than a bitter, crazed old woman. Visibly she knew naught, it _had_ to be as such.

Nothing awaits thee save horror and blood.

The wind squealed like a gutted criminal, yanking at her unbound hair and soggy skirts. "Please," Raylah sobbed, nearly falling upon the door, so weary was she. She was at her wit's end, that much was certain. If the door would not open, if she was not let in-

Crimson streaks poured from her hands, staining the wooden door as she banged. Scores of quivers collected and shrouded her. Rain and tears, of the storm and fright both, drenched her pallid countenance. From behind her, throughout the deserted Courtyard, slicing through the furious squall came strong, shifting sounds. Sounds of flowing material sloshing through the dank mud puddles. Sounds of feet, three sets, trudging towards her…

Glancing over her shoulder, as she struck the door harder with dripping, numb fists, Raylah could make out tall, shadowy shapes. Three shapes made of pitch.

..._you suffered and shall continue to suffer. Most horrid the pain shall be._

"God save me!" Her shrieks scattered throughout the vehement night. "I bid thee open the door! Please!"

Thankfully, it came to pass.

Lengthy and silent, three figures glided closer, and abruptly the heavy door swung open. Raylah stumbled forward but was kept from falling by sharp nails that yanked her inside. The massive door slammed shut behind her with an eccentric bang. The whipping wind, the sheaves of rain and the ferocity of the storm all disappeared in a flash. A silence soaked over the Princess and it was deadening. Fingernails slid from her wrist, leaving behind shallow dents. Raylah didn't notice.

Breathing heavily, she righted her balance and shoved handfuls of sopping hair from her face. Relief thick as syrup skimmed over her as though in ladlefuls. For a few instants she simple stood there, her mind reeling. The idea of safety, cool and sweet, washed over her like a foaming slice of the sea. She had escaped from the figures three. There _would_ be help here, she knew it, and peace also. Of that she _must_ believe.

Raylah came back to herself and looked about. Her savior was a burly guardsman whose face was mostly obscured by a thick, brown beard. From the tangle, wandering eyes assessed her. They were standing in a tiny foyer made completely of crumbling, slimy stone. Only one torch was lit and the flame cast squirming shadows upon the walls. Behind the guardsman was an arched, wooden door that mirrored the door she had been pulled into. 

Wiping at her wet cheeks, Raylah gazed up at the tall guardsman from beneath lengthy lashes. "You have rescued me from a fate most terrible, kind Sir. For that I must thank thee most profusely."

Those cool eyes roamed over the thrusting swell of her bosom beneath the square neckline of her gown before reaching up again. His voice was husky and deep. "Both King Dellan and Queen Charmion await thee."

The guardsman's lusty gaze, coupled with his low voice, sent shivers of warmth cascading into the pit of Raylah's stomach. It was most improper, he was but a _guardsman_ and in light of all the fearful things that had transpired, this was truly _indecent_ and yet...it was desire she felt. Thick and encompassing, it wound into her skin and she longed to remove her cloak and perhaps even _all_ her garments to the guardsman's heavy stare.

In her mind's eye a picture suddenly rose. Naked was she, upon an enormous bed and the man she lay with was cloaked in shadows but she could see that he was most finely formed. They coupled with blazing carnality in so many positions and forms. Lewd, wicked images raced throughout her brain. Here she rode his engorged member as though upon a stallion, caressing her breasts as she did so. There he stabbed into her from behind so deeply that she screamed in liquid ecstasy. Upon her knees she ate of his massive sex as he fingered her to height again and again. He watched her as she pleasured herself for his enjoyment. So many bawdy depictions passed through her mind in seconds and she found herself thoroughly randy.

"How-how is it that the King and Queen know of my arrival?" Raylah's voice was breathless and she knew her cheeks to be carmine.

The guardsman smirked as though able to see straight into her mind and all her sordid images. "Ask them if ye will. for I know not."

She inhaled sharply and forced herself to calm. It was foolishness to be lusty at a time such as this. She was a Princess not a tavern wench! "Am...am. I the Princess of this castle, Sir?"

Genuine surprise marred the guardsman's gruff voice. "Nay. There be no Princess here, only the good Prince Ayden. Know your name then, maid?"

Swallowing she nodded, trying to hide her dismay. "Raylah." She hadn't realized how badly she wanted this castle to be her home until now, when there was no possibility of it being otherwise. "I had awoken deep in the forest with no memory to speak of."

"Indeed. Her Majesty will be most interested to know of these tidings." He turned and beckoned her to follow. "Come forth."

The door opened onto a vast hallway leading into three different directions. The walls again were made of dank stone and upon the rocked ground was a strip of wide purple carpet stretching down all the dimly-lit corridors. The guardsman led her down the left passageway. The ceiling soon grew low and it drooled rainwater. They ventured down shambling, steep stairs and continued through twisting corridors and arched entrances. They approached another deteriorating stairwell but before they could go any further, a voice from behind stopped them.

"Let her onto me Calder."

Raylah turned and was unable to keep from gasping. Before her stood a tall man of aristocratic features and stance. His hair was fair and his eyes a steely pewter. Arrogance marked his countenance, from his rakish gaze to the line of his jaw. The doublet he wore was black and showed clearly that he was of Royal birth. Simply put, he was the most striking man Raylah had ever beheld.

"Your Majesty?"

The Prince, for Raylah was certain that was who he was, did not look away from Raylah. "I shall take her forth."

"As you wish." Calder bowed before turning his attentions towards Raylah. "I shall meet with thee later then, Raylah."

Raylah flushed scarlet. She had been staring, so enraptured with the dashing Prince had she been. She looked upon Calder, recalled her earlier passions and flushed deeper. "I thank thee, Sir."

He nodded briefly before striding away, leaving Raylah alone in the dimly-lit passageway with the Prince.

Grey eyes slowly raked over her disheveled form. "Raylah is thine name then."

"Aye." An involuntary tremble coursed through her body at the strangely sensual, cultured way the Prince pronounced her name. "You are the Prince of this castle? Prince Ayden?"

"Aye. You have come to Lilia because...?"

"I had lost my way within the great forest." She gazed up at him beseechingly. "I awoke with all my memories gone. I only know that I be a Princess and that mayhap this-"

"You a _Princess_?!" Disbelief tinged his voice as he pointedly glanced at her damp hair, rain-wrecked cheeks and muddy clothing. "Surely you jest wench."

Raylah tilted her chin and frowned at the handsome Prince. She had not come all this way, through circles of Hell as it were, to be ridiculed! "It had been storming," she replied coldly. "And horrid things had happened to me. I trust your Majesty will forgive that I do not appear the height of lofty fashion!"

Amusement seeped into those steely eyes. "I see. And what proof of thine own Royalty have you?"

"I am not accountable to thee!" Her temper was swiftly rising. "As I recall it is thine parentage who have summoned me!"

"So it is _Princess_." He pronounced her title with great mockery. The Prince took a step closer to her, openly attempting to intimidate her. His voice lowered. "I take not kindly to insolent peasant waifs who've delusions about their own mean standings."

Raylah froze at the barely concealed malice glinting in his eyes. The Prince was dangerous, Raylah realized, as dangerous as the speakers three and Nettle. She held out one slender hand adored with the signet ring of icy jade and met his reluctantly met his gaze. "See this then, Prince Ayden."

He caught her hand and his touch sent coils of warmth writhing in the pit of the stomach. He touched the ring with his index finger as the others caressed her skin. "The emblem of Ardeth," he murmured, his cool breath rustling against her temple. 

Raylah's heartbeat quickened. "Ardeth," she whispered and it sounded _right_ upon her tongue. "Yes, surely that _must_ be."

Prince Ayden did not release her hand. "You truly know naught then?"

"Aye." The word came out as a wispy slice of air. She was so close to the tall Prince, must closer than decorum would _ever_ dictate. She did not wish that he should think her a woman of loose virtue and yet she _longed_. Mere inches separated them from passion.

"These terrible things you spake of...what were they?"

Raylah shuddered and clenched her eyes shut. "I would not speak of them, that I cannot."

"I shall protect you then, gentle Princess." His free hand curved about her storm-kissed cheek.

Pea green eyes flew open. "Y-you shall?"

"I feel as though I've known you for ages past." His eyes stabbed into her and she was helpless to look away. "Most beauteous Princess of Ardeth."

Acting of its own will, her hand slid up the muscular slope of his chest. "I desire thee," she confessed in a husky voice that seemed not to be her own. From deep within her, a tiny voice spoke, berating her for acting so brazenly. She had been aborted and she had been accosted by lunatic witch! How could she give in to lust with this steely Prince? 

The tiny voice was smothered when Prince Ayden crammed sensual lips onto Raylah's. He ate of her mouth, cupping her full breasts through the sodden material of her gown. His other hand tangled through moist, inky locks and jerked sharply. Her mouth slid wetly against his and she gasped in pleasure. Quickly his tongue thrust between her lips. Moaning, Raylah writhed shamelessly against him. She was unable to help herself. 

He would protect her, that she could _feel_.

"I will take you forward," he murmured roughly, pulling her body against his own lean one. "Meet with mine parentage as you would and following, I shall come to thee." His lips fell onto the arch of her neck. "What is thine due will find thee Princess. Reap what you sow and so it shall come to pass."

If she hadn't been in such a thick fog of passion, Raylah would have noticed that his words and gaze bore great resemblance to that of Nettle's.


	6. Part V

PART V 

_When I am queen I will insist_

_With perfect scars upon my wrists_

_That everything you once held dear_

Is taken away from you. 

**~*~When I am Queen – Jack Off Jill~*~**

Holding her hand with cold fingers, the Prince led Raylah up the dusky corridor. They trod on damp, splinted stone with echoing footsteps and cast angles of shadow upon the bleeding walls. Despite the complete silence and apparent desolation of the castle, Raylah felt secure. Trust, from the very pit of her heart, she felt for Prince Ayden and she knew instinctively that he would never harm her. It was as though they had met upon some occasion once before and their meeting now was merely fate. 

Together they scaled a twisting, narrow staircase encased in pitch-like gloom. Higher and higher they climbed, ascending floor after floor. Raylah clung to the Prince, soon growing weary. So long she had run, fleeing from the demons of her past, that it felt as though she could flee no longer. Each step above caused exertion but she could not find it in her to complain. She did need to see the King and Queen, as she needed her memories of the past, no matter how grim.

The stairs spiraled upwards and at length they reached the summit. Before them stretched a darkened, narrow corridor running some twenty yards. Enormous windows flanked the walkway at intervals, casting moon-lit shadows upon the dusty floors. At the hallway's far end stood a black door, words that she could not read from this distance, writ upon its surface.

"Yonder lies my Queen's chambers," Prince Ayden spoke, letting go of her hand. "Step forth and court shall be held with thee."

Raylah met his steely eyes. "Thou wouldst leave me then?"

"That I must, Princess." Long fingers skimmed the slope of her cheek. "I shall find thee again, fret not. You are to me as mine own heart."

Pink heat spilled into her cheeks and she averted her eyes. "What words thy doth speak," she murmured. "Eagerly I shall await, if it would please thee."

"That it would." His tone was deep and warm, diffusing into her skin with tingling shivers. He caught hold of Raylah and pressed his mouth upon hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, to both taste and surrender. She allowed herself to revel in his warmth and masculine gallantry. His hands brushed over her skin in sketches of what would come, had they all of time at their beckoning. Her heart raced at unnatural speeds, liquid heat imbuing throughout her body. Her own hand caught his roving one for were they to go on, she would be unable to stop. His lips clung to hers before they cleaved apart. Sliding his fingers from her, Raylah felt as though something precious he'd taken from her. A piece of her it surely must have been, for isolated she suddenly did feel.

"Anon we shalt meet," the Prince promised throatily and before she could reply, he was gone.

Raylah shivered in the darkened corridor. She touched her kissed-lips once before finding her way forward. The sensation of being watched was a glaring one. Raylah pulled her cloak tightly around her body and avoided looking through the glass windowpanes. She did not desire to know whether her thoughts were correct in nature. Hastily she walked the hallway's length, wishing that the Prince had not left her side. Upon reaching the door, she could not help but glance behind her. Shadows shifted and made rustling sounds.

"'Tis merely the wind," she told herself half-heartedly and turned back to the door.

She was now able read the metal-wrought, swirling script that graced the face of the door. It was a curious passage, shaped with faintly malignant undertones. 

_The Enfeebled provides the fool_

_The Disabled provides the affection_

_The Apathetic demands the affection_

_To those suffering from their own satisfaction (1)_

Shivering, Raylah reached out to touch the ornate door handle but again, as before, this door opened of its own accord. Beyond was spread a large, dark room lit only by a massive flagstone fireplace in the far corner. Stone pillars divided the chamber into sections, some hidden behind heavy violet tapestries, some open and saturated with shadows. The entire area was crammed full with furniture and priceless decorative items. Everything from paintings and statues to ancient weapons and shelves of tomes was coveted in this room.

Wringing her cold hands together, Raylah stepped further into the room. Behind her, the door slammed shut with a vociferous bang. She jumped and looked over her shoulder. Of course there was no one behind her. 

"Come hither."

Her head snapped forward, inky locks springing upon her pallid cheek. In the far corner, behind a heavy tapestry, Raylah could see two silhouettes illuminated by the glow of tapers weak. One shadow was clearly male whilst the other was female. Raylah shifted closer, treading upon thick carpet and moved down a couple of steps into the heart of the room. The Queen, for surely this was indeed the Royal Couple, gestured at a stone bench in the murk of three massive suits of armour. Raylah sat, apprehension smearing from her frosted skin.  

"Your Majesty?" she asked timidly.

The King spoke, his voice rich and full of commanding authority. Raylah found that the tone was familiar, as though she had once past encountered it. "From whence doth thou hail, wench?"

"I cannest say with certainty, Your Majesty," Raylah confessed. "I awoke in the forest most deep and ere that time is unbeknownst to me. I fled in fear and arrived hither. I seek both shelter and knowledge. All I cannest say is that 'twould seem I be the Princess of Ardeth."

"Ardeth hath no Princess," the Queen proclaimed in flat though oddly dire tones. 

"But I am she," Raylah cried. "To me thine own son had spoken it as such!"

"Upon what proof?" the King demanded.

"I bear the emblem of Ardeth upon my ring," Raylah replied in relief. She held out her hand and was stunned to see that her hand was bare.

"You seek to lie then," the Queen declared triumphantly. 

"In lying I have no reason." Raylah toyed nervously with her cloak as she peered about the floor. She must have dropped the ring...it could be anywhere now! "I seek not to deceive you, Your Majesty. The Prince too did mistrust my person but upon seeing my ring, he did proclaim my lineage."

"Where then, is this ring you speak so earnestly of?"

"That I do not know. 'Twould appear that I had dropped it along the way's edge someplace. For that I must beg thine pardon."

Save for the crisping of the fire, the room grew silent. Raylah waited with much anxiety. Why would the Queen say that Ardeth has no Princess? What had truly happened? She hadn't...she _couldn't_ have taken _flesh_...could she? Surely not!

"For this night only you shalt be given lodgings," the King spoke at last. "The storm rages deep."

"Thine all actions shalt indeed be noted," the Queen warned. "Against thee is much to qualm."

"I thank thee most copiously," Raylah breathed. She hesitated for an instant before giving in to her curiosity. "Why should thy assert, Your Majesty, that Ardeth hath no Princess?"

"Ardeth now lay in ruins," the King answered instead. "All done by the callous hand of the Princess. Much speaks doth come this way of Ardeth's goings-on but what be truth and what be falsities is difficult to say. Should thine identity be as thy hath claimed then..."

This silence was as viscous as what had been carved from her.

From thine deeds, thou cannest flee.

Raylah's blood ran cold.

 (1) Taken from 'Blessings Upon the Throne of Tyranny' by Dimmu Borgir, a Melodic Death Metal band from Norway. They fucking _own_.


End file.
